A Gift
by Kiera Kingsley
Summary: Eames's unexpected talent is put to use in an unexpected way.
1. Chapter 1

Bobby Goren was bored, which happened often, and was staring languidly at Eames as she bent over her work. She was scribbling away on the page, her hands drawing deft strokes across the lines, and he let his eyes linger on her before glancing down at the paper.  
  
"Hey, what's that?" Goren leaned over and tried to get a better look at what Eames was doing. He caught a glimpse of a pair of startling eyes before she yanked the notebook away.  
  
"Nothing," Eames said quickly, and blushed-so odd for her that Goren was instantly interested.  
  
"Come on, what is it? A drawing, right?"  
  
"No-o-o..."  
  
"Sure it isn't. Let me see."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Come on...please?" Goren wheedled, giving her his most charming and persuasive smile.  
  
"Nope." Eames rose to her feet and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'm starving, let's go already."  
  
"Sure." Goren looked innocent enough as he caught his jacket from the coat rack and eased into it, and even held the door open for Eames. She smiled at him, sauntering past, and-  
  
"Hey!" Eames yelped, and chased Goren down the steps as he darted away with her notebook in hand. Laughing like a maniac-which seemed so natural to him that it was slightly creepy-Goren flipped open the front cover and leafed through the pages.  
  
He stopped in his tracks as he saw the first few drawings. The details were so vivid, so realistic, that the characters seemed to live inside the pages. A girl talking to her mother, an old man drinking coffee at a table with a newspaper, a flock of pigeons rising into the air around a skyscraper... Each of the scenes he saw were filled with light and shadow, colours, shape and texture and depth. "I didn't know you had a talent for drawing," Goren said aloud, his voice abruptly gruff.  
  
"There are lots of things you don't know about me." Was that a touch of teasing laughter in Eames's voice? When he looked up at her, she had her arms crossed and was glaring at him with mock sullenness. "Okay, for your punishment, you have to tell me what you think of them."  
  
What else could he say? "Eames... honestly, these are amazing."  
  
"Oh, yeah?" She grabbed her notebook back and stuffed it in her bag. "Well, just for that, I'm buying you lunch."  
  
Laughing again, they took off together and headed for the restaurant down the street.  
  
  
  
In the afternoon, Goren was searching through some files while Eames typed out a report. Quiet work, the right kind for a rainy day, which it was... and just the right kind for waiting for a phone call.  
  
The whole office, in fact, was waiting for this phone call-and none more so than Captain James Deakins. The detectives' supervisor was spinning around in his chair, fiddling with his papers, biting his fingernails, and tapping his feet nervously. Eames shot a stealthy glance at him as he tried to read a fax upside down and exchanged smiles with Goren.  
  
"Detective Goren!" roared Deakins at the same time, snapping a pencil in half between his fingers. "Get in here!"  
  
Goren sighed theatrically and made his way over to Deakins's office. The wiry blond man tried to look imposing and stern as the detective sat himself opposite the desk, and failed pitifully. "Where's that report on the Ford case?" Deakins growled.  
  
"Here, sir." Goren passed it over from the stack of folders he had been carrying, and watched with growing pity and amusement as Deakins fumbled with the papers and dropped the pile of photographs, scattering them all over the desk.  
  
"Thank you, Detective, you can leave," Deakins answered finally, dismissing his top detective with a sharp jerk of his hand.  
  
Goren obliged, but not before pausing at the doorway. "I'm sure she'll be fine, sir," he said reassuringly. "Has she had any kids before?"  
  
"No," snapped Deakins, looking miserably up at him. "And her health is so bad, I... I'm worried about her." He swallowed hard and stared resolutely down at the reports in front of him, blinking his eyes fast. Goren felt a stirring of sympathy for his supervisor and quickly turned away.  
  
Eames hung up the phone and stood up just as he rejoined her. "Listen up!" she called out to the headquarters, her face alight with mischief and pride. Every face turned her way, and Deakins's tousled head poked out of his office, his eyes haggard.  
  
She folded her hands behind her and announced, "Olivia Sarah Deakins was born exactly one hour and two minutes ago, weighing in at seven pounds, eight ounces."  
  
The room exploded with cheers and raucous whoops, the sound of clapping echoing off the walls. Deakins leaned against the doorframe of his office, his eyes taking on a relieved glow and a slow, wobbly smile stretching across his face. "Come on, get back to work!" he shouted above the noise, and the cheers turned to hoots of laughter.  
  
  
  
Wait for the next chapter, it gets better... If you read and review-and leave your names-I'll write you into my next piece... *grin* 


	2. Chapter 2

I'm working on my next piece now, and I'm including everyone's names... so read and review, please! *big smile*  
  
  
  
Two days later, Eames was bending over her work when she saw Deakins rush to the front door and hold it wide open. Curious, she peered around Goren's computer and caught a glimpse of Deakins's wife, Sarah Owens, holding a baby in her arms.  
  
"Hey." Eames tapped Goren's shoulder. "Look over there, it's Olivia."  
  
"Olivia who?"  
  
"Olivia Sarah Deakins," Eames rejoined, looking exasperatedly at him. "Honestly, Goren, pay attention!"  
  
Goren raised an eyebrow at her in that unsettling way of his. "Hey, the last time I babysat, I got burped on twice, the kid wouldn't stop crying, and I spilt the bottle on the carpet. No more babies for me, thanks."  
  
He got a flash of white teeth for an answer. "Fine, you stay there. I'm going to see."  
  
Goren made a face as she got up and left, moodily spinning a pencil on the blank sheet of paper. He forced himself to concentrate on the notes in his book and scribbled away in the margins-at least, for about five minutes. It was rather hard to focus when Eames came back... pushing the stroller with Olivia in it.  
  
"Eames...!"  
  
"Just over lunch, I promise," Eames smiled. "Deakins and his wife are going out, and they wanted somebody to watch her-"  
  
"No way, nada, not a chance-" Goren quickly got to his feet, shoving his things aside. "I'm out of here."  
  
"Will you get me lunch?"  
  
Scoffing, "Why would I want to do that?"  
  
"Because you love me," Eames coaxed in response, her eyes dancing. And because he did-although, as of yet, he would rather die than admit it-Goren grumbled and growled all the way to the front doors, but ending up buying her a hearty meal at the restaurant.  
  
When he got back, Olivia was gurgling and giggling away while Eames hunched over her desk. Goren laid the takeout bags to one side and was about to lightly tap her on the shoulder when he saw it: she was scrawling away in her notebook, drawing a picture of Olivia.  
  
So instead he rested his arms about her shoulders, watching her work in silence. She gave him a quick smile before returning to her sketch, filling the outlines with shades of shadows and depths of dark eyes. A few lines here and there, and the baby's hands emerged; a bright flash and a sparkle in the right spot, and Olivia's eyes were full of light.  
  
They stayed that way for a long time-Eames working intently, her hands moving with deft sureness and sudden inspiration, and Goren gazing at both her and the picture in admiration. The noises of the workplace receded, and the work on her desk faded away; it was a rare moment of peace, one that Goren would remember long after the events afterward.  
  
All too soon, though, Sarah was thanking Eames as Deakins tickled his daughter's feet and played with her small hands. Then Sarah wheeled the stroller about, gave her husband a final kiss, and was gone.  
  
Goren watched Deakins closely as his wife and child left. His boss was smiling openly, without a trace of his normal reserve, his face alight with pride. Eames saw him and winked at Goren as the detective sat back down to his desk. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"  
  
But Goren was not smiling. "It can't last," he muttered, half to himself and half to Eames. "He's too happy. Something's going to go wrong."  
  
Eames felt a secret shiver run down her spine. "Don't be stupid," she said aloud. "Why shouldn't it last? And what does that mean, anyway?"  
  
Goren shook his head. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I can't explain it. It's just a feeling I've got."  
  
  
  
Eames would remember his words, the distant look in his eyes, for the rest of her life, and would shudder whenever she recalled it. For Goren's prediction did come true, in a horrible way, the next morning.  
  
It was a cloudy day, threatening to rain as the detectives met each other at their usual coffee stand. Eames showed Goren her finished sketch of Olivia-coloured in, with warm brown, red, and gold hues-as they walked up the steps to the headquarters. "It's fantastic," Goren proclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "An artist is born!"  
  
"Oh, shut up," Eames yawned, albeit with a smile. "It's no good, it's just- Hey, what's wrong with Deakins?"  
  
Goren peered over her shoulder and saw Deakins hovering over the phone. The captain's face was white with dread, his eyes blazing with fear, and his hands were trembling. Eames slowly approached her supervisor and spoke softly. "Sir?"  
  
"Go about your work, Detective." The voice was low and ragged, choking at the end.  
  
Goren came up behind his partner. "Sir, what's-"  
  
"Get back to work!" The two detectives, and perhaps half the building, heard the raw agony and anxiety in Deakins's voice as he roared hoarsely at them. Goren and Eames stared at him, then at each other, and then hurried to obey in silence.  
  
All morning work was carried out in complete quiet. Goren kept sneaking looks at Deakins's white face and Eames shot glances at his clenched fists. A pall hung over the station like a thick mist, choking up the throats of everyone who came and went, and those inside found it hard to speak above a whisper.  
  
About noon the phone rang, and Deakins dove at it. The noise he made rattling the receiver startled Eames so that she ran into Goren and dumped her papers all over the floor. "Sorry," she murmured to her partner, gathering the scattered sheets as he dropped to his knees to help her.  
  
"Shhh," he hissed softly, putting a finger to her lips. "Listen."  
  
They held their breath and waited, crouching on the carpet, as Deakins spoke into the phone. "Yes? Yes... no, I haven't... no, sir, we never did that... what? But how... what... why did you do that? ...yes, I see... No, that's alright, I'll see her later... Yes, thank you. Goodbye."  
  
And he hung up with a click. Goren stood up to see Deakins swaying on his feet, dazed, as if hit by a sudden blow. "Sir, what happened?"  
  
Deakins didn't answer. He put his hands over his face, briefly, before stalking past Goren into his office and slamming the door behind him.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

I'm back! Writer's block... may it never happen to you. *makes a face* Read and review-I'm still taking names! *grin* Sylphide, Sunset, RiverStar, ylanissima, Madame Isabel, Kathryn Janeway, Gin, Amanda, thank you!!!  
  
  
  
Goren was done his work, but he was not bored like usual and Eames was nowhere in sight. He kept staring hard at the closed door to Deakins's office, trying to see past it, but he had no special sight-at least not in his eyes-and the door stayed shut all afternoon.  
  
So he hovered around his desk, looking foolish and feeling miserably awry, until early in the evening when the station was quiet. Goren was ready to get up and go, seeing the last person leave, when he saw Eames standing close to the doorway.  
  
"Eames," he called softly, "do you want a ride..." He trailed off as he glimpsed her face: she wore the same pale, pained expression as Deakins. "Eames?"  
  
"Goren." She swallowed something and tried to smile. "I'm taking the train, I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Hey-" He caught her arm as she stepped outside, and they stood shivering on the front steps. "Deakins can shut himself up in his office, but you can't. What's going on?"  
  
Eames had closed her eyes at the mention of Deakins's name, and now she blinked furiously a couple of times. "I talked to his secretary," she finally said in a flat voice. "Olivia died just a few hours ago."  
  
"...Olivia? Deakins's daughter, Olivia?" This was making no sense. "She's dead?"  
  
"Sudden infant death syndrome. The doctors still can't explain it." Eames sounded like she was reporting a case, stating the facts, but suddenly she broke down. "She was only three days old!"  
  
Bewildered and helpless, Goren awkwardly put a hand on her shoulder and then an arm, letting her weep; Eames, unable to fight back the tears in her eyes, had never felt so alone.  
  
  
  
The night that followed was long and terrible. Eames, shaking with sheer exhaustion, curled up on her couch and tried to sleep, only to be woken by nightmares that left her wailing like a child. When the morning sun slanted through the windows she was lying motionless, staring blindly into the darkness with wide eyes.  
  
She was dazed and drowsy that day, incoherent to the point of babbling. Goren, after seeing her frustrated to the point of tears over trying to write a short report, knelt by her desk. "Go home," he said unceremoniously, his voice gruff. "You're useless here. Try and get some sleep."  
  
"I can't." Eames buried her face in her hands; her voice was strangled. "I can't sleep... every time I go to sleep I hear her crying, and then I see her dead in her crib..."  
  
"Do you have any sleeping pills?" When she didn't answer, Goren lightly touched her face. "Do you have somebody to talk to?"  
  
Eames still said nothing, but looked at him with haunted eyes. She could see that Goren wanted to help, badly, but he didn't understand. It was merely a sad fact of life for him that Olivia died; a terrible tragedy, but not his personal loss. He didn't understand that something of her subject's soul went into every drawing she did, and that for one afternoon she had known Olivia, and loved her, more than anyone else around her.  
  
"Eames." Goren's voice brought her out of her stupor. "I'll take you home, if you want-"  
  
"It's all right, I'll stay," she answered quickly. "I need to work."  
  
Goren nodded slowly, looking at her, and Eames suddenly got the feeling that he did understand after all-a feeling both disconcerting and reassuring.  
  
  
  
That evening, Eames did not try to make herself forget by watching TV or reading. She sat down at her kitchen table and opened her sketchbook, flipping through the pages until she reached her last piece of work-the painting of Olivia, done only two days ago.  
  
She stayed seated for a long time, absorbing the details of the drawing, memorizing each tint of colour and shade of shadow. She gazed into the bright eyes and traced the outline of a tiny hand with one fingertip. Then she rose to her feet and rummaged around in a drawer, fishing for a pair of scissors.  
  
Returning to the table, she carefully cut the picture out of the sketchbook and stuffed it into her bag. The sketchbook was tucked away out of sight, the scissors returned to their place.  
  
That night, Eames fell into a long, peaceful, and dreamless sleep and did not wake up until the next morning.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

I can't say thank you enough to everybody who has reviewed-you have all been incredibly supportive and thoughtful, and I hope you get fantastic reviews on each and every one of your own stories *very, very, very big smile*. My grateful thanks to everyone!  
  
  
  
The day was limpid and bright as Eames walked into the station, the sun just beginning to rise. Only a few people were in headquarters, scattered across the cluttered and crowded room.  
  
Goren was waiting for her at their desk, his eyes dark with concern. He had spent a restless night worrying about her, and he anxiously searched her face for traces of anguish or fear. But instead of grief, a strange clarity was luminous in Eames's eyes. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Better, thanks." Her smile was warm and genuine. "Just a second-" and she was walking steadily towards Deakins's office. Her partner rose to his feet, uncertain about whether to follow her, then slowly sat back down again.  
  
Eames tested the handle on the door, then swung it open. Deakins was leaning against the wall, reading from a file stuffed with faxes, and he acknowledged her with the briefest of nods. "Yes, Detective?"  
  
"Sir, I came to give you this." Eames started forward, pulling a loose sheet out of her bag, and held it out to him. "I did it a couple of days ago, and...and I thought you might like to have it."  
  
Deakins raised his eyebrows, took the paper-the painting of Olivia-and gave it a quick glance before dropping his file folder and staring in amazement. Eames watched in alarm as he clutched the sheet in both hands, so hard it seemed ready to rip apart, and sunk into his chair with his eyes still riveted to the drawing.  
  
Then Captain James Deakins did something Eames had never seen him do, nor ever saw him do again: he wept.  
  
She retreated to the door and was about to slip back outside when Deakins choked out, "Wait... stop, Eames, don't go!" He composed himself with a steeled effort as she slowly edged towards the desk. "I... Sarah and I, we never took a picture of her... You don't know what this means to us..."  
  
"I do," said Eames quietly. "I really think I do. Thank you, sir." And then she left, and rejoined Goren at their desk, who said nothing but gave her the shy half-smile that few people rarely saw.  
  
"I did a new drawing this morning," Eames announced after a few minutes of silence.  
  
"Let's see," said Goren instantly, watching as she drew the sketchbook out and handed it over to him. He skimmed the sheets and stopped on a certain page, the last one: it was a drawing of him, sitting at his desk with his feet propped up. Eames had used all of her skill to create the sketch, and it showed plainly; the sparkle of sharp humour, the smouldering rebellion, the keen intuition-all were evident.  
  
Goren was briefly taken aback before he understood. He looked back up at Eames with eyes that said everything, and she smiled back at him.  
  
It was going to be a good day.  
  



End file.
